


the glow of the candles, the glow in my heart

by occasionally_always



Series: polyamchives fluff <3 [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, au where they're all assistants under gertrude, is it romantic? platonic? who cares! all that matters is that they love each other, jon is Short sasha is Tall it's imperative that you know this, polychives, pumpkin carving and other autumn things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occasionally_always/pseuds/occasionally_always
Summary: Sasha thinks, here with Jon and Tim and Martin, that this is already one of the best autumns she’s ever had.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Sasha James/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Series: polyamchives fluff <3 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984142
Comments: 25
Kudos: 108





	the glow of the candles, the glow in my heart

**Author's Note:**

> thank you atlas for the "pumpkin carving" idea!! i'm in an autumn mood so it was lovely to write. i love these four and just want them to be happy together,, anyway

It’s an overcast day, and cold enough that Sasha’s scarf, coat, and even the pumpkin-patterned jumper beneath it aren’t enough to keep her from shivering as she heads up the steps to the Magnus Institute. The warmth of the lobby is a blessing, and she sighs in relief upon entering, waving hello to Rosie as she passes the front desk with a smile.

The archival office bullpen is even warmer; one wouldn’t think it would be, being the lowest level and all, but Martin had dragged in a small space heater at the beginning of fall and now it’s downright cozy. Sasha’s sure the electric bill’s gone up because of it, but that’s for Gertrude to deal with and she hasn’t said anything about it, so for the past month the little heater has chugged along as a happy member of the archive crew. It even has a bow stuck to it, courtesy of Tim, and Sasha pats the top of it fondly as she enters the room. Gertrude had gotten a look on her face that was simultaneously bemused and condescending when she saw how they all greeted the heater every day, but Sasha personally thinks she should have expected this; after all, they only felt the need to bond with an inanimate object after she had banned them from getting an archive cat.

“Hey, Sash!” Tim says, and she grins at him as she starts tugging her scarf off. The scarf apparently isn’t on board with this plan, because it’s gotten stuck in her coat button; Tim swings his legs off his desk to come and help her untangle herself.

“Thanks,” she laughs. “My saviour.”

“Of course, fair lady,” bows Tim, and she shoves at him lightheartedly. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“I am,” Sasha admits. “The weather’s got me happy.”

Jon looks over from where he’s typing something up on his work computer, with an expression that says he thinks she’s insane. “The  _ weather? _ It’s frigid!”

“Well, yeah, I don’t like that part,” she says, sliding her coat off and hanging it with the scarf before walking over to her own desk. “But the grey skies are comforting, in a way. It makes me happy.”

“We’ve almost always got grey skies,” points out Tim, amused.

“Leave Sasha be, she just wants to enjoy the weather!” calls Martin, from behind the door labeled HEAD ARCHIVIST. Sasha can hear him opening drawers and shuffling papers, before he opens the door all the way and pokes his head out, waving at her with one hand and clutching a stack of papers in the other. “Good morning, by the way.”

“ _ Thank _ you, Martin!” she says, and then, “What are you doing in there?” They almost never venture into Gertrude’s office; she gets in a tiff whenever she finds out one of them has even touched something in there. Speaking of which—”Where’s Gertrude?”

“Out, dunno where,” replies Martin, looking sheepish. “I just need the notes for a statement, and I can’t find them anywhere…”

“Just ask her when she gets back,” suggests Sasha, as she digs through her desk for her own research. It’s an absolute mess of papers and pens, and Jon has told her a thousand times to just use a computer program and have it all typed up instead, but as much as she loves her laptop, she can collect her thoughts much better when she’s writing things down. She finds the proper notebook after a couple moments and emerges in satisfaction with it clutched in her grasp. “Anyway, I  _ know _ there’s nothing really special about the weather today. It’s just that it’s autumn, you know? Something about it being October. And I walked past a shop that had Halloween decorations and fairy lights up in the windows, and it was just really nice, and so I’m in a lovely autumn mood, don’t be judgemental.” She directs this last bit at Tim teasingly, and he sticks out his tongue at her, and of course she has to stick out hers back, and this prompts Jon to put his head in his hands and sigh, and then the door to the archives opens and makes Martin squeak and drop his papers in surprise, and this is how Gertrude Robinson, opener of said door, finds the four of them.

She spares a moment to give them all a judgmental glance, which goes unseen by Martin, who’s too busy trying to collect the papers from the floor. Then she sweeps past them, all tight bun and long skirt and harsh eyes, stepping around Martin to enter her office and close the door behind her with a click that rings of finality.

The four assistants exchange looks of trepidation. Martin is most likely internally panicking over the unusual lack of chastisement; Sasha, personally, is just wondering why Gertrude’s hand looked like it was bleeding, although she’s learned not to question these things out loud.

A thumping noise comes from within the closed office, like something heavy being dropped into a wastepaper bin, and then after another couple moments the door opens.

“I would advise going home for the rest of the day,” says Gertrude, and does not elaborate any further. Sasha catches a glimpse of a thin trail of smoke inside the office, and decides yet again to not question any of this out loud; anyway, it’s not like this is the first time Gertrude has had them leave early for mysterious reasons. So she stands with a nod and starts packing up her things. It’s only just past ten in the morning, so “the rest of the day” really means a whole entire day off from work and that’s something she’ll gladly accept.

Jon, Tim, and even Martin seem slightly more resistant to the idea, but the door has already closed yet again, and they all know Gertrude well enough to recognize that pushing her for answers is never a particularly wise idea. So the four of them quietly pack themselves out of the archives, Jon turning off the little heater on the way out.

They linger just inside the front doors of the Institute, not eager to have to venture out into the chilly day, watching through the windows as a drizzle starts to come down from the cool grey sky. It makes Sasha’s heart grow warm—autumn weather really is one of her favorite things. She decides she’ll stop by that store on her way home, the one with the Halloween stuff in the window, and then maybe she’ll get a pumpkin chai latte from the coffee shop, and go home and light a couple scented candles; the aesthetic of fall is something that fills her with delight, and she wants the rest of today to live up to this morning.

“We—um—we don’t have to go home yet, do we?” Martin says, and Sasha glances over to see him fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. “I mean, do you guys want to do something together before we—go our separate ways, and all? Get some tea or something?”

“Oh, we mustn't! Marto, no tea to be gotten out there could ever live up to your patented archive tea, we can’t betray it,” Tim cries dramatically, reaching up to ruffle Martin’s hair because he’s not tall enough to drape an arm around Martin’s shoulders like he always does with Jon.

“You mean the plain black tea from the back of the dusty breakroom shelf, which is probably ten years old and all we ever make?” asks Jon dryly.

“The tea that’s always lukewarm because the sound of the kettle gives us headaches if it heats up past eighty degrees?” adds Sasha with a giggle.

“The tea that you  _ literally spat out _ yesterday?” finishes Martin, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, and Sasha can’t help but break down into laughter.

“I only spat it out because the milk you found in the breakroom fridge and added to it was expired,” argues Tim. “Anyway, it’s the best tea because it’s made with your love and nothing else can compare don’t fight me on this Martin—” He’s cut off by Sasha draping her arms around him from behind and giggling into his sweatshirt.

“Give it up, Tim,” she says, voice muffled by the fabric. “I’m sure Martin’s tea is normally very good, but the ‘patented archive tea’ is just plain awful.”

“It’s a product of limited resources,” Tim argues.

“Yes, and because of that, it’s awful.”

“You drink it every day, we all do.”

“There’s nothing else to drink, what choice do we have?”

“Tim,” says Martin, dead serious, “it’s awful tea.  _ Please _ can we go out to a café or something?”

“I would love to go out to a café,” Jon says firmly, rolling his eyes at them, and with that, he shoves open the heavy Institute doors and starts off down the steps.

The three of them are left staring after him. “We really do exasperate him, don’t we,” muses Tim. “Well, better catch up!”  
“Have fun!” Rosie calls from her desk, where she’s most likely been observing this whole conversation with amusement, and they chorus their good-byes back before heading out into the cold to run after Jon, who has fortunately not gotten very far.

Sasha is instantly freezing, and winds her scarf back around her neck as they walk. She starts to tug her coat sleeves over her hands, but then Tim holds out his own with a hopeful smile, and she gladly places her right hand in his. She reaches out for Martin with her left, and he takes it with a hesitant smile, and her hands are now just as warm as they would be in her coat sleeves, and her heart a thousand times warmer than that.

When Jon glances back at them, Tim grabs onto  _ his _ hand and refuses to let go, and the four of them end up crammed onto the sidewalk side-by-side, bumping shoulders and laughing. There’s a moment of confusion when they encounter a pole and have to maneuver around it; it would be easiest to break up and let the pole pass between them, but none of them want to let go, and they get around it in the end (although it garners an alarmed look from someone walking past them from the opposite direction).

Somehow, they make their way to a boba shop around the corner, only to find out it’s closed on Fridays and Saturdays. Sasha groans. “What do we do now?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it’d be closed,” sighs Martin mournfully.

“Well, this gives us a chance to try your normal tea, I suppose.” Jon says this with a neutral expression that gives none of them any clue as to what, exactly, he’s thinking, and Tim nudges him inquiringly. He sighs at them like it should be obvious. “We’ve only had Martin’s tea when it’s the awful black tea from the dusty shelf, so let’s go to one of our places so that he can properly make some and we can actually appreciate it.”

“I’m kind of surprised you’re the one suggesting that,” Tim says after a moment, “but it’s a great idea.”  
“It is,” agrees Sasha, “but let’s figure it out fast, because I would really like to get out of this cold, please!”

“Um, my place is fine,” Martin says hurriedly. His cheeks are quite red, whether it’s from the cold or because he’s blushing; Sasha’s guess is that it’s both. “Actually, though, could we go to the supermarket first? It’s only a block from my flat, and I’d like to pick up a couple things…”

“Why don’t we go to your flat first, to drop off all our stuff,” Sasha suggests, “and then walk to the supermarket,” and the rest of them agree.

“So,” Tim says once they’ve clambered into a cab, tone confidential, “what do you ‘spose Gertrude was doing?”  
Sasha tilts her head at him. “You mean wherever she was, or in her office when she got back?”

“Oh,  _ was _ she doing something in there?”

“I did think I smelled smoke,” chimes in Martin. “Maybe she was hunting for a Leitner, and brought it back with her to burn.”

“Doesn’t seem like the burning worked if she had to send us away, though, does it?”

Sasha can practically feel the strength of Jon’s shiver, even though she’s inches away from him. “She’d better get it taken care of,” he says darkly. “It seems like we hear about a different one every month, what will it take to just get rid of them all?”

Sasha reaches her hand out to find his, and he lets her take it. She doesn’t understand the way he’ll treat most every statement they look into with forced skepticism but react to Leitners with instant belief and anger, but whatever reason there is for it, she doesn’t want to just leave him to those negative emotions. It’s the same way she hates leaving Tim to  _ his _ sadness and anger, when anything about circuses or skin comes up; it’s even the same way she latches onto Martin with a hug and a distracting ramble about her current research whenever he gets off a phone call with his mother. She cares about all of them, plain and simple, and doesn’t like to see them hurting. And she knows they feel the same about her, even if Jon would be loath to admit it out loud.

They pile out of the cab once they’ve reached the apartment building, and Sasha looks around with eagerness upon entering Martin’s flat. Hers would have taken less time to get to, being only a five minutes’ walk from the Institute, but she was extremely curious to find out about the home of Martin Blackwood. It’s not as cozy as she’d have expected, doesn’t have the same vibes of warmth and comfort that Martin himself gives off; she supposes it is rather nice, though, despite the lack of pictures on the walls or blankets on the sofa.

“I would have taken you for a plant guy,” says Tim, walking around the small main room with a look of intense nosiness. “It fits your aesthetic, with the tea and all, you know?”

Martin gives an awkward chuckle, betraying the fact that he definitely does  _ not _ know what Tim is going on about. “To be honest, I always felt like I would kill a plant as soon as I got it.”

Sasha drops her work bag to the ground and nudges it with one foot against the wall by the door. “I think it’s a lovely place. Let’s stop gawking though, shall we? Supermarket, remember?”

“Yes, quite,” says Jon absently, who’s peering around him with a curiosity almost more blatant than Tim’s. Tim doesn’t respond at all, apparently too invested in the kitchen he’s migrated into; Martin is watching him anxiously, hands fluttering at his sides, as though this is a test he thinks he’s going to fail. It takes Sasha five minutes just to drag them all back out the door, although she does so with fondness.

The supermarket is much brighter than the dull grey day outside, and noisier, too, with plenty of people even though it’s a Friday morning. Martin tugs a cart from the cart train, and the four of them meander down an aisle towards the dairy section. They’d get there faster, except they’re passing the bread and Jon and Tim keep finding different types to chatter on about. Sasha listens in on their debate about whole wheat for only a moment before deciding anyone who finds the topic of bread debatable in any capacity is insane, and  _ she’d _ like to keep her sanity. Martin just looks confused.

They finally make it through that section of the store—” _ how hard is it to get through the bread aisle, guys?! _ ”—but then Sasha spots the Halloween section and nearly trips over a small child in her fervor to get there as fast as possible. Martin groans, but follows with the cart, which she immediately utilizes in her quest to collect as many cheesy decorations as possible.

“This is your favorite holiday, I’m guessing?” Martin says, sounding awed at her intensity. She only glances away for a moment to nod at him. She’s on a mission, after all, and there are many shelves to cover.

“What are you going to do with all these, Sash?” Tim asks in amusement. “I know you’re obsessed with Halloween, but I also happen to know you already have two boxes of stuff like this at home.”

“This is for Martin,” Sasha replies. “We’re going to decorate his flat, obviously.”  
“Obviously…?” Martin repeats in confusion, but to his credit, he doesn’t question her further. Jon doesn’t resist either, only muttering “Please remember we’ll have to carry all of this back” as he stares at a pack of fake cobwebs with disdain.

And it does turn out being fine to carry, even once Martin’s picked up the milk and various other things he wanted. Sasha’s got four plastic bags on her arms while Jon has managed to get away with one, but they’re the small kind that barely hold anything, so they’re light enough that she doesn’t mind.

Martin’s small coffee table becomes the temporary home of the decorations, and Sasha, Tim, and Jon sit on the floor and stare at the sprawling shrine in awe while Martin bustles away in the kitchen, fixing them tea, Sasha hopes. Tim has picked up the plastic, pumpkin-shaped fairy lights, and unwinds them slowly, eyes wide. Jon is trailing his fingers across the sack of fake bones, muttering something under his breath, which is only slightly concerning. Sasha simply allows herself a minute of quiet pleasure.

A wind is picking up outside, strong enough that it’s audible. Sasha closes her eyes and listens to the breeze and the sprinkling rain and the murmur of Martin talking to himself in the kitchen, and feels the happiest she’s been all week. It’s autumn, and the sky is a comforting grey, and the people she loves are all around her.

Loud clinking noises draw her to open her eyes. “Here it is,” Martin says, carefully setting down the three mugs of tea in an impressive balancing act. His voice is just high-pitched enough to give away his nervousness. Sasha smiles at him warmly and picks up her mug, feeling its heat radiate through her hands.

“Where’s yours, Martin?” Tim asks, in a tone that says he knows Martin doesn’t have one at all.

“I, uh…didn’t make any for myself, but it’s fine, really—”

“We’ll share with you,” suggests Sasha.

“Um, sure, if—how would that even work?”

“We’ll figure it out.” She nudges him with her stretched-out foot amiably before lifting the mug to her lips. It’s the perfect temperature, and he’s somehow managed to capture the emotion fall gives her in one cup of tea. “I love it, Martin.”

“I rate it a thousand out of ten,” agrees Tim, “much better than the archive tea.”  
“What’s in it?” asks Jon, who’s taken a sip of his own but had no outward reaction that Sasha could tell.

“Well, the tea is pumpkin rooibos, and I added a bit of milk and cinnamon sugar.” Martin sounds more confident now, and is smiling back at Sasha with a warmth just as tangible as that of the mug in her hands.

“It’s good,” Jon mutters, and this is the compliment that makes Martin’s whole face flush red, because Jon giving a genuine compliment is quite a rare thing for any of them.

They spend a few more minutes just sitting on the floor and drinking their tea, and then Tim makes the decision, quite verbally and loudly, that it’s decorating time. Sasha is not ashamed to admit she squeaks in excitement. The tinsel is the first thing she grabs, outrageously orange, purple, and sparkly, and she flings a piece around her own neck before heading to the kitchen to trail the rest along the tops of the cupboards. She’s just tall enough to shove it there with her fingertips, but at the end of the cupboards she doesn’t get it far back enough and the whole strand slips off.

“Need help?” calls Jon, watching by the sofa with mild amusement on his face.

“Yes, please,” Sasha sighs, staring at the tinsel in dismay. She turns just in time for Jon, who she can only guess thought the best mode of transportation would be to skid across the floor in his socks, to crash into her with an  _ oof _ . If she’d been wearing socks too they both would have fallen, but she manages to keep her feet steady, one hand bracing against the counter and the other clasped around Jon instinctively.

“O-oh, sorry,” he says, face as red as Martin’s had been earlier, but she waves it off with a laugh. They manage fine with the tinsel after that, Sasha pushing it up and Jon, who’s kneeling on the countertop because he’s too short to help otherwise, shoving it farther back and making sure it doesn’t fall before she reaches the end.

“Lovely,” she breathes, once they’ve got it all up and are standing back to look at their work. It’s really not that impressive, but she feels satisfied with it, and she can tell Jon does too.

When they turn back to the main space, Martin is searching for stray nails in the walls to hang the pumpkin lights from, and Tim has apparently been setting the various miniature cauldrons, skulls, and gravestones on every surface he can find. It’s all an absolute mess, but Martin seems to be enjoying it an awful lot, and it makes Sasha feel fuzzy with happiness.

“Some nice autumn wind, pumpkin tea, pumpkin lights—I declare this day to have extremely good autumn vibes!” says Tim, standing in the center of the room with hands on his hips.

“ _ Oh, _ ” Sasha says suddenly. “We forgot the actual pumpkins!”

“Sasha, I don’t think we  _ need _ actual pumpkins,” Martin laughs. “This all is good enough.”

“Martin,” she says firmly, walking up to him and placing her hands on his shoulders. “We. Need. Pumpkins.”

“I haven’t carved pumpkins in way too long,” Tim adds. “If you have some good knives, we could make jack-o’-lanterns.” He pokes Jon in the cheek as he continues, “Spoooooky ones.”

Jon shoves him off with a noise of disgust. “I was going to say I wasn’t  _ opposed _ to the idea, but now you’ve made it so much worse.”

“Come on, let’s go,” Sasha interrupts, and this time Tim helps her drag the others out the door, shushing Martin’s and Jon’s feeble protests.

The two dissenters didn’t have time to get their shoes back on before they were forced out of the flat, and Sasha had forgotten her coat, but she refuses to let them go back, even though the rain’s coming down harder now. “Suck it up, you can’t expect adventures to be  _ easy _ .”

“Adventure? I was under the impression this was a trip back to the supermarket,” grumbles Jon, who’s definitely having an uncomfortable time with the way his socks are squelching against the wet sidewalk.

“Well, yes, but…” Sasha can’t actually think of a reply, so instead, she grabs his hand and starts skipping, tugging him along and ignoring his protests.

The supermarket probably isn’t happy that two of their group are walking around in wet socks, but Sasha figures sometimes that’s just the way life goes, and they’re only inside for a minute anyway, to pay the price of four pumpkins at the register. Then they head back out to each choose a pumpkin from the big cardboard bins at the side of the store. Tim takes one look at the smaller box of mini pumpkins and heads back inside to pay for several of those as well, and the rest of them search through the bigger ones.

In the end, they’ve got four big pumpkins and three miniatures, and no bags to carry them back with because Tim refused to go back inside (“The lady at the register was glaring at me, I think she’s gonna call the manager if we go back in,” and Sasha has to admit that she can see how their laughing and lack of shoes might have been a little disruptive). Sasha carries a pumpkin by the stem in each hand, Martin is holding on to his in the same way, and Tim has the little ones cradled in his arms; Jon, meanwhile, has both arms wrapped around his pumpkin, which is ironically the biggest of the lot.

Halfway back to the building, the wind and rain gets even stronger, and they end up running to get inside before it soaks through their clothes—or as much ‘running’ as they can do with heavy pumpkins tagging along. They spill into Martin’s flat with cheeks red from the cold and hair splayed across their faces by the rain, and Martin hurries to get spare newspaper so that the pumpkins can be set down.

He doesn’t have knives for all four of them, so he and Sasha watch Tim and Jon work first, after they’ve scooped out the orange mess of seeds from inside. Jon looks deep in concentration, pumpkin turned away from them so that they can’t see what he’s doing. Tim seems to just be cutting geometric shapes into his pumpkin, slowly and meticulously, and it starts to look like a pattern you would find in stained glass. Sasha watches the careful movements of his knife, impressed.

Martin’s gotten up to make himself his own cup of tea, and Sasha follows him to reheat hers. As one cup steeps and another rotates in the microwave, she leans into him, wrapping an arm around his side. His knitted jumper isn’t hardly as soft as her pullover, but its chunkiness is satisfying, and she holds onto it tightly as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“Thanks for going along with all this,” she says. “I know I kind of dragged you along for the ride.”

“No, no,” he says quickly, wrapping his own arm around her loosely. “Honestly, I’m really glad you did. It’s—nice.”

Sasha laughs. “Nice is one word for it. Chaotic is probably a more accurate one, though.”

She can feel his shrug as he replies, “With you three? Same difference, honestly.”

“He’s not wrong,” Tim calls loudly from the floor, and Sasha and Martin break down into startled giggles.

She has to detach herself from Martin to tug open the microwave and pull out her tea, but once he’s got his all fixed up and they’re back on the floor by the makeshift pumpkin-carving station, she leans into him again. “Alright, let us see,” she prods, and Tim shoves his pumpkin at her. It’s covered in the triangle- and diamond-shaped holes, and she can only imagine how pretty it will be once there’s a candle glowing from inside. Jon’s turns out to have something of a spider face on it, with eight eyes, sharp fangs, and thin lines cut all around it to make spiderwebs.

“Oh,  _ nice _ ,” Martin says. “I love spiders, that’s so good.”

“How can anyone love spiders?” Jon’s tone is incredulous. “I did what I thought would be frightening, not ‘lovable.’”

“It  _ is _ frightening,” Sasha says with a shiver. “I don’t know about you, Martin, but spiders are really scary.”

“They’re good for the ecosystem!” he protests. “And really cute!”

“Cute?!” exclaims Tim, who’s pointedly  _ not _ looking at Jon’s spider pumpkin. “Spiders are about as cute as Gertrude Robinson!”

“And as deadly,” Sasha adds; Tim stifles a snort.

“She doesn’t have quite so many eyes, though,” says Jon, staring at his pumpkin contemplatively, and after a second of silence, they all crack up.

“Okay, give me the knife now,” Sasha says, wiggling her fingers invitingly.

“Sasha with a knife scares me,” jokes Tim, but he slides his across the floor to her, and she drags her pumpkin over to herself before picking up the knife. The pumpkin is cool from the chilly day; she runs her fingers over the smooth parts of its surface, and then the rough gray bits. It’s very satisfying.

“I’m gonna go classic, I think. What about you, Martin?”

He shifts uncertainly. “I'm not sure. I’ve only done this once, I don’t know what I should do.”

“Do a spider,” Jon suggests dryly, “so that we can see how  _ cute _ you think they are.”

“That’s actually a good idea, thanks, Jon,” smiles Martin; Sasha’s sure he’s purposefully ignoring Jon’s tone, and she admires him for that. He watches as she cuts around the stem of her pumpkin, and she shifts a bit to face him so that he can see how she does it. The tangled insides are squelchy when she scoops them out to be plopped onto the newspaper, and he makes a face as he does the same.

It doesn’t take her long to messily stab a face into the pumpkin, poking out eyes, a triangle nose, and a choppy smile. After a second of contemplation, the smile gains several triangular fangs. The action of cutting into the pumpkin and pushing out the pieces is very satisfying, and she absentmindedly gnaws on one of the eyes as she works.

Martin’s does turn out pretty cute. He’s cut the simple shape of a spider hanging from a thread into the face of the pumpkin, and left eyes at the front end of the spider. It’s more neat than Sasha’s, that’s for sure. She watches as he pushes himself up to grab a few tea candles and a box of matches from a closet in the hallway, before coming back to place one inside his pumpkin and the others beside everyone else’s.

“Thank goodness you had candles,” Jon remarks, “because we were  _ not _ going back to the supermarket.” Sasha hums in resigned agreement.

“Okay, okay, turn the lights off but leave the fairy lights on!” Tim scrambles up to flick off the main light switch, and the room goes dark. Sasha stifles a giggle at Tim’s realization that the lights aren’t even plugged in yet, and he shuffles around in the dark before shoving the cord into the wall with a cry of victory.

Jon reaches for the matches and lights his candle before carefully placing it inside his pumpkin, only for Tim to steal it to light his own candle. Sasha snatches Tim’s to light hers, and then uses hers for Martin’s, and after a minute of them maneuvering the candles into the center of their pumpkins, they have four jack-o’-lanterns cheerfully glowing in the middle of Martin’s flat.

There’s not really much surface area left to put them on, so a couple go into the kitchen and a couple stay on the floor with a warning from Martin to be very careful not to knock them over. He closes the curtains over the kitchen window so that the main light in the flat comes from the plastic pumpkin lights and the candles in the actual pumpkins, and the warm glow makes Sasha feel happy, and a bit drowsy.

“I’ll make pasta for lunch,” Martin suggests, “if that’s okay with everyone?” He’s met with a chorus of assent, and Tim ends up following him into the kitchen in an attempt to be helpful that ends, somehow, with a lot of clattering and pasta all over the floor. It finds its way to a pot in the end, though, and fifteen minutes later they’re sitting around the coffee table yet again with bowls of hot buttered pasta in their hands.

“Thanks, Martin!” Sasha says brightly. His kindness is so consistent and present, and she hopes she can be the one to make  _ him _ food and a warm drink sometime.

Their lunch is interrupted a few minutes later by the ringing of Jon’s phone, and he groans after looking at the screen. Their chatter hushes as he accepts the call and puts it up to his ear. “Yes, Gertrude?”

Sasha pokes at the last bit of her pasta. Jon’s face isn’t particularly happy. He gives an “of course” to the phone before hanging up and telling them, “Gertrude wants us to come back into work.”

Tim lets out a groan louder than Jon’s. “Come  _ on _ .”

“I really don’t mind going back in, but she told us we had the day off,” Sasha sighs.

“It’s not like she’s ever been very  _ good _ at communicating with us.” Martin stands with resignation, gathering everyone’s dishes for them. “I suppose I do need the time to work on that case, though.”

“I mean, you really don’t,” Sasha points out. “We’re only doing research because we need to do something that’s not actually productive to the archives. You could get away with taking a month to do that case.” Gertrude has never explicitly told them the research was only to keep them busy, but it was pretty easy to gather, seeing as the Institute already has a research department and Gertrude’s actions consistently follow the pattern of pointedly  _ not _ being what Elias wants the archives to be doing. The four assistants put their all into it, of course, but Sasha’s sure Gertrude would be just as satisfied with them doing nothing but uselessly rearranging files all day. At least research is interesting.

“I like to do one a week, I want to at least  _ feel _ productive,” Martin replies, and Sasha has to admit she knows the feeling.

“Well, putting all that aside, the point of the matter is that we need to be back at the Institute,” Jon reminds them. “By two-thirty.”

Sasha nods in acknowledgement and gets up to gather her things. As she does so, a plastic bag partially tucked under the couch catches her eye—they’d missed some of the decorations. She hangs her work bag on her shoulder before kneeling down to pull it out. It has another batch of tinsel and a bag of candy corn that she had forgotten about.

“What if we hung that up in the archives?” Martin asks from behind her, startling her so much she drops it. “Oh, sorry!”  
“It’s fine,” she laughs. “That’s a really good idea! Let’s bring the tiny pumpkins too—Tim, where did you put those?”

He emerges from the hallway bathroom, running a hand through his hair to tousle it. “Uh, good question!”

“Thank you,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Tim, did you lose the tiny pumpkins?”

“I did not lose the tiny pumpkins, I swear. They’re just, uh…”

“Right here?” says Jon, holding them out with a pointed expression. “Just admit you forgot where they were.”

“Never!” Tim takes the pumpkins and holds them close to his chest. “Hello, my pumpkin children. Please know I would never forget about you.”

“You forgot them, Tim,” Martin snorts, from where he’s putting on his coat by the door. “Come on, let’s head out.”

It has not, unfortunately, gotten any warmer. The rain re-plasters their hair to their heads in the two minutes before they manage to get in a cab, and Sasha sighs at the mess of tangles her braided hair is sure to have become at this point. She stares out the window at the blur of buildings; at one point, there are trees with red and golden leaves on either side of the street, and it’s like the autumn tones have wrapped themselves around the cab. She rubs at the hem of her jumper and smiles out at it contentedly.

Gertrude hardly spares them a glance once they’ve finally made it back into the Institute and down to the archives, but the smoke is even more tangible, so Sasha figures if it really was a Leitner it must have ended up burning in the end. She unwinds her scarf from her neck for the third time today, as Jon switches on the heater and Tim starts placing the pumpkins on their desks. The two of them debate for a minute about where the tinsel should go, but in the end Sasha steals it without them noticing, quickly grabs scissors to cut it into five pieces, and lays pieces across their shoulders. Martin gets one too, and she puts the last two around her own neck, even though they’re awfully itchy.

They all settle into their work easily enough, but there’s only a couple minutes of silence before Martin lets out a quiet “fuck.” It surprises them all so much that they stare at him in shock, and he flings his hands up at their scandalized expressions. “Sorry?”

It makes them all break down into laughter, and Sasha is wiping tears from her eyes when Martin explains, “I just realized we forgot to put out the candles.”

“They’ll probably just burn down, I’m sure it’s fine,” says Tim easily, feet up on his desk just like when she first came in that morning.

“God, I hope so,” sighs Martin, tugging on a strand of his hair anxiously. Sasha’s sure Tim’s right, but she frowns in sympathy.

The door to Gertrude’s office opens and they all immediately straighten. “What’s all this noise about?”

“Nothing,” Sasha says pleasantly. “Would you like a piece of tinsel?” She smiles her brightest, most innocent smile, playing with one of the bits around her neck.

“Yeah, you should get one!” Tim leans forward eagerly.

“I really don’t think that’s—” starts Gertrude, but Jon of all people is the one to interrupt her.

“Just take it,” he says. “It  _ is _ nearly Halloween.”

She looks surprised for a moment, before sighing. “Fine, then.” Sasha leaps up with delight to give her one of the pieces, and she lets it sit on her shoulders with only a small frown, to the satisfaction of her assistants.

“Sorry to trouble you,” Sasha says, still smiling, and Gertrude shakes her head minutely before instructing them to keep it down.

They do manage to stay quiet and get back to work, Sasha exchanging a small smile with all of them before she really dives into her research. Despite the fact that her hair and sweater are still damp from the cold rain, she feels incredibly warm inside. It was only half a day, but she keeps remembering the hot tea, and the breathless dashes to the store, and tag-teaming the tinsel, and the glow of the candles, and all the other small moments of pure happiness today, and she thinks, here with Jon and Tim and Martin, that this is already one of the best autumns she’s ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> the breakroom was unused for a really long time it's kind of sketchy and yet they still used the dusty milk, someone give these fools a braincell


End file.
